Screaming Your Name
by perfectsmuttyvampire
Summary: What if it wasn't hatred between Tom and Chakotay? What if it was something different?


_**TITLE: Screaming Your Name**_

_**SUMMARY: What if it wasn't ever hatred between Tom Paris and Commander Chakotay? What if there was history from long ago, but it had long since been left behind? And what if, meeting again on Voyager in a difficult situation will see that tension burst back into roaring flames?**_

_**PAIRING: Tom/Chakotay…don't ask me why. It just had to be done.**_

_**WARNING: Oh, it's M alright. Seeing as I don't want any more underage sex demons on my conscience, back away if under age of consent in your specific country. Also slash. I don't read flames - I will just post your username and comment on my profile, under caption of "Homophobic tosser"**_

_**Property of Paramount and the fabulous Gene Roddenberry, for the bare bones of Star Trek. You are amazing, and I can only apologise profusely for my severe imaginative issues.**_

TPOV

I never thought I would see the day when I got honourably involved with Starfleet again. I never thought I'd ever fly a starship. Least of all _Voyager_, which I've heard everybody talk about with reverence. The holy grail of Starfleet. And I get to fly it.

But I never thought that I would have to fly it back to the Alpha Quadrant, 70,000 light-years from right here, right now - with _him_ on board.

Ah, yes, Commander Chakotay. As in the Commander Chakotay whose name is linked with mine under the heading of hatred, when I never, could never, felt hatred. Chakotay who used to make passionate love to me all over his Maquis ship, Chakotay who I shagged with a vengeance on a regular basis, the Chakotay who once brought me to ecstasy during a crew meeting without ever alerting anyone, and the Chakotay who once had to conduct a crewman's review whilst I crouched under his desk and sucked him off.

That Chakotay.

And when I got myself captured, I resigned myself to never seeing him again. Captured crewmen were security risks. Even if I had escaped, he would never have allowed me back onto his ship. And now he is here, and I can almost hear the thoughts inside his head - screaming at me, wondering what happened to me, and wondering if I've changed. I have changed, I am a different Tom now, a slightly defensive, self-conscious Tom, who can't quite bring himself to let down his defences. But if I have changed, my feelings have not. I still want him, crave him, need him like addicts need drugs, need him like I've never needed anything or anyone before, so much so that it is painful without him. But he is as closed off as always, as restricted as he ever was, and I have no idea how he feels. I saw him without defences only when we were alone together.

I cannot spend seventy years enduring this sexual tension. I need to know.

I plan it all very carefully. I set up the holo-programme with great care, and entirely alone. Every detail must be exactly correct.

CPOV

Enough is enough. It takes me a month on _Voyager_ to decide this. I have had enough. Enough of watching him sit right in front of me, enough of watching him flirt with Harry Kim, B'Elanna Torres, Tuvok, Kes, and studiously ignoring me. Oh no. The days are hard enough, days on the bridge watching him fly the ship like other men caress their lovers, hovering around B'Elanna while she fixes his precious impulse engines. But the nights are my own personal delicious hell. I can see him as vividly as if he were there, rising over me in the darkness, hands gripping my hips, kisses raining on my lips. Every memory, every fantasy, every location we ever touched, kissed, made love in, I remember them all.

"_Paris to Commander Chakotay."_

"_Go ahead Paris."_

"_Please report to holo-deck two. There's something you should see." _

Captain Janeway waves me off before I can ask permission.

"Tom Paris never says "there's something you should see". Something must be up. And as there's only ten minutes to the end of your shift, I don't expect you back on my Bridge."

She is entirely oblivious. She's practical, not suspicious.

_Computer, activate holo-deck lock-out, authorization Paris Alpha 396_.

"Lieutenant, what are you doing? And why is it so dark?"

"Chakotay, I have decided I will take matters into my own hands." The lights go up as he finishes speaking. My mouth drops open. The tiny Italian restaurant is lit by candles and gas lamps. The music is soft, romantic and unobtrusive. The fire is burning in the open fireplace. The table is set for two, and has a bottle of wine cooling in the silver ice-bucket.

"Tom, I -"

"Do you recognise it?" I still can't see him, somehow that heightens everything.

Of course I do. Of course. Our first date, our first time alone together. I chose the restaurant, he chose the wine. I go over to the table, and as he doesn't stop me, I pick up the wine bottle. Yes, the same wine. A 2010 white, warm and spicy with the citrus tones. The table has food on plates - the lasagne he ate, the carbonara I chose. He steps out from the shadows, and I can't help the groan. His clothes are different. The one variation on the precise memory. He wears smart black trousers, with a dark burgundy shirt, first two buttons undone, and a suit jacket thrown over one shoulder.

"This is the one chance I give you, Chakotay. If you stay, I will make you mine tonight, and never let you go. If you don't want me, walk out now."

I sit down, and pour the wine. He joins me, casually draping the jacket over the back of his chair. His dark blue eyes watch me, scanning my face. Neither of us speak, because we don't need to. We eat, and then I pull him to his feet.

"Dance with me?" He nods, slipping back into my arms as easily as if we had only been apart hours instead of years. He still fits against me so well, just short enough for him to be able to rest his head in the curve of my shoulder, slim enough for me to wrap him in my arms and sway with him, and built enough for me to feel hard muscle through that shirt. He's bulked up recently. There's more of him, in a good way. Shoulder's have broadened, I can feel more abdomen hardness than I could the last time I held him. But it's still familiar. He sighs. It's a little contented sigh. I tighten my grip, and stand still. He comes in closer, and his arms go around my waist, resting lightly in the small of my back.

"I've missed you. Missed this. I thought, after all the time away from you, I could see you again, and handle it. But I couldn't. God, Chakotay, I'd wake up smelling your scent while you were God knows how far away from me, wake up feeling you when you hadn't touched me in years. Then you turned up here, on this ship, and I - I knew, I fucking knew I wasn't over you. It took everything I had to stop me wrestling you to the ground and begging you to have me."

"Tom, look at me." I force his chin my when he doesn't move, hold his face in my hands. "Look at me. I never gave up. Not on you, not once. I had to believe I'd see you again one day. And when Fate gave me this, gave you back to me, when I saw you sitting at the Helm, I nearly died then and there. I'm surprised nobody heard my heart stop. Every memory we've had, every _moment _with you - I remembered it all."

He's silent, and then he pulls away a little. He tugs on my hand, and we go through the back door. It's the same cosy little room we spent lazy hours making love in after the dinner. But that cosy little room was his tiny flat.

"I adapted. I wanted everything to be perfect for us."

I pull him down onto the couch, and he immediately settles into an old familiar position, resting lightly on my chest. I wrap my arms around him and he rests one hand on my chest, the other near my neck. It's been too long since we held each other like this. I play idly with his hair, running the soft strands through my fingers. He still smells the same - like lemon, and like nutmeg soap. That scent used to linger on my pillows, on my clothes, skin, hair, in my bed. After I'd lost him, when he'd gotten himself caught, a found a shirt half under my bed that belonged to him. I never washed it, clinging to the scent that still lingered in the folds. I cried like a child when I realised I could no longer smell his lingering scent, that it was gone.

But now he's definitely here, and I inhale deeply. Oh God. I'm addicted to him, addicted to that smell.

"What are you doing?"

"I've missed your smell. You always smelt so good. I've missed this, just lying with you, holding you close, not saying or doing anything. I've missed how you feel in my arms."

"Missed you too, Chay. I couldn't quite get my head around it when I saw you. I thought I was dreaming." He props himself up onto his elbows and looks down at me. "I'm still not sure I'm not."

I should pinch him, but I don't. Instead, I run my hands down his body, over his chest, cupping his ass in my hands. His lips part slightly. "Let me prove you aren't."

I unbutton his shirt slowly, making the moment last, as much as I want to shred his clothes, and make this coupling hard and fast. But it must be special, must be memorable, because in a way it's starting from new. New beginnings, with different roles. This time we have to make it work. I drink in the sight of him when I get his shirt off, drop it to the floor. So pale, always, now he's tanned up. Shirtless labour, I think, and groan. Those muscles were not so defined when I saw him last. He looks incredible.

I lower my head to his lips, kiss him, and he explores hungrily. I gasp when I feel him pinch a nipple through my uniform. He grinds his hips into mine, I feel hardness through those black trousers, those trousers that emphasise that ass so very nicely. He must be able to feel mine. Uniform, I think, hazily. Get the fucking uniform off. He rips my shirt over my head. Huh, must have said that out loud. His mouth comes down, and he bites my neck at the shoulder, where nobody will see it under the uniform. He descends, biting gently on my nipple, pinching, licking, teasing.

_Red alert, all crew to stations. Red alert_.

Fuck.

You.

He groans and sits straight up. He throws my shirt at me, pulls his own on. We rush out, and I notice he's got quick on his feet. I can't help noticing the way running makes his muscles flex. God, when I find out why red alert, heads will fucking roll.

Tom's outfit raises some eyebrows when we fall onto the bridge together. He immediately takes over the helm.

"What's happening?" Kathryn Janeway fills me in, quickly and efficiently, without pausing to ask any questions.

"Unknown vessel. It's Cardassian - and they're powering weapons. We got locked onto by a tractor beam. Did you not feel it?" She doesn't wait for me to answer. God, no. I didn't feel it, I wouldn't have felt it if we'd been shot out of the Delta Quadrant altogether.

"Captain, I can give you all phasers and photon torpedoes. And if you can buy me ten minutes, I might be able to scatter that tractor beam." B'Elanna says, coolly and efficiently.

"Keep working, I'll talk. Captain Janeway to Cardassian vessel. Power down your weapons. I repeat, power down."

"_Captain_ Janeway," a voice sneers. "You are in Cardassian space, Federation. And so very far from home. I wonder why this is? You are alone, you are vulnerable. You will surrender now, and I shall let you live. But if you fight me, you will all die today. You are trespassing in Cardassian space, and you must pay the price. Surrender your vessel. You have ten minutes to choose to do so, or I will fire."

"Captain, Cardassian's don't talk. This isn't right -"

The shot hits us directly in the engines. I look up at the shudder just as Tom's console blows apart under him. He flies, almost gracefully, back from the Helm, slamming into the wall beside me, and then crumples to the floor.

"Captain, the Cardassian's have disengaged the tractor beam. They're gone."

"B'Elanna, give me whatever you can with the engines, Ensign Forbes, you have the Helm. As soon as those engines are back online, get us out of here."

I'm numb. I'm crouching beside Tom, and he isn't making a sound, nor is he moving.

"Please don't be dead, Tom. We've only just found each other. Don't be dead." I don't care that we're on a crowded bridge and I don't care that Janeway is now crouching beside me, running tricorder scans.

"Ensign Kim, beam him to Sickbay. He's alive."

"I haven't got transporters, Captain."

So I pick him up. Literally lift him in my arm, cradling him like you'd cradle a child, and I walk away. I don't care if they're watching me, I don't care if they gossip. Tuvok follows me silently, and he takes Tom from my arms when I stagger.

"No, Commander. It is illogical for you to carry the Lieutenant. If you drop him, you may injure him further." I surrender Tom to Tuvok, who bears his weight with ease. I follow him. It feels like a funeral procession. "Computer, activate the Emergency Medical Hologram."

"What is the nature -"

"Doctor, it's Tom, there was an accident, we were fired upon, I -"

"His console exploded. He is unconscious but alive." Tuvok interrupts, putting Tom down on a bio-bed. I watch the doctor run his scans like I'm watching through mist.

"He has some internal bleeding and severe burns. And his brain has been badly bruised. Some of his memory may not recover. I will place him in a comatose state, to give his brain time to repair itself. Commander Chakotay, I must insist you stay out of my way."

"Save him."

"Commander -"

"Save him."

"Commander Chakotay. Either you do as the Doctor says, willingly, or I will have you removed. You are being neither productive nor helpful, and may in fact be hindering any help for Lieutenant."

I crawled into a dark hole, and I remained there for days. Three days became an eternity. I barely hear the door chime, and certainly don't acknowledge it. However, something as small as a locked door has never stopped B'Elanna Torres, and it doesn't stop her now. She comes right in.

"Leave me be."

"Tom wouldn't want this. You know he wouldn't want you to be sitting here like a useless _p'tag. _He wouldn't like it." I forget that they were friends. "Tom wouldn't want me to sit around and mope. He'd want me fixing his engines, which I have done for him. He would want you on that Bridge, doing your job, going for the people who did this to him."

"He's not dead," I snarl.

"I know that. But he can't speak for himself, so I'm telling you what he'd say." She takes my hand. The only person she'll ever let her guard down for is the only person she's never seen broken, and here I am. She isn't sure how to deal with me. "Chakotay, I'm not blind, I am not stupid. I saw it, the look on your face when you saw him again, when you stepped onto the Bridge with him three days ago. You still love him, and I'm pretty damn sure he loves you too. So you get up, and you fight for him. Put on your uniform, and report for duty. Come on."

I manage it. I manage to pretend I'm not terrified.

"Captain, I have the Cardassian vessel on long-range sensors."

"Hail."

"Back for more, Janeway?"

"Your blast hit one of my crew members. He is in my sickbay, in a coma, and he may be dying. If he never wakes up, or if he wakes up anything less than his old self, I will make it my mission to see every last one of the people on that crew suffer. You have made a dangerous enemy of me, and an even more dangerous one of my First Officer. I demand that you tell us what your weapons are compiled of, or I will blast you out of space and leave you here to rot. My weapons are powered, ready, and my ship is on red alert. I will fire long before you can react, so tell me what I want to know."

_Two Years Later_

"What are you thinking?" B'Elanna asks, not taking her eyes of the tricorder she's running over the Jefferies tube.

"About two years ago. About Tom."

"Ah."

"I know. I shouldn't brood. But I can't help it."

"Chakotay, you know you shouldn't dwell. You have him back. He's still Tom."

"I know. Do you think it's selfish of me?"

"No, I don't. But it looks like you're doing pretty well anyway."

Tom himself walks into engineering less than two minutes later. He says hello to B'Elanna, hi to me, and then bends down to see what she's doing.

"How's my baby?"

"Your baby, Tom, is just fine. Just an errant bit of debris, no trouble at all." She excuses herself, leaving Tom to give the tube an affectionate pat. He blushes when he realises we're alone.

"How are you?" I ask.

"Fine, you?"

"Peachy." There's a little silence. "What time do you get off?" I enquire, and he bites his lip and smirks. I roll my eyes.

"19:00 hours."

"I was going to cook, how does steak sound?"

"Will you make your special roast potatoes?"

"If you're very nice to me."

"I can do that later," he murmurs, seductively.

He came round, and he was my Tom. But he couldn't remember. He didn't remember the accident, didn't remember Voyager, didn't remember being Marquis. He remembered, wonderfully, brilliantly, torturously our first date. Wonderfully because he knew me. Torturous because he was shy and careful and odd around me. But he was the Helmsman he'd always been, as affectionate about the ship as ever. Between them, Harry and B'Elanna got him back on his feet, helping make it easier to resume a life he didn't remember leading. They put me into the equation gently, encouraging us to use some of their holo-deck time, to go dating, have dinner together. Let Tom live his past as his future. Captain Janeway had allowed Tom to be told his entire past only six months before. He had come to me that night, and said the only thing he regretted was losing the memories of me, everything else could go to Hell.

That was the night we made love for his first time. The memory is blurred, hot skin, gentle caresses, his moans as he rose above me in the moonlight, riding me gently, arched like a bow as he came. And then he moved in. Didn't ask, mind. I just got off my duty shift, and his toothbrush and razor were in the bathroom and his clothes were in my cupboard. I didn't argue, until we spent a night in the same bed that wasn't post-coital exhaustion. He takes the covers, kicks them off, tosses and turns for nearly an hour before he settles and sprawls out all over the place. That was our first argument, more of a spat, that ended with passionate sex in the shower.

So I cook him dinner, and he appreciates every bite, which is lovely - there's nothing more satisfying than seeing a man really enjoy his food. Then he washes up, which is the agreement. Whoever isn't cooking, is washing up at the end of the evening. Unless we cook for company.

"Kathryn, B'Elanna, Harry and Tuvok will be joining us for dinner tomorrow night." I tell him, before I get distracted and forget.

"What's the occasion?"

"Senior officer monthly dinner. It's our turn."

"Shall I do my curry?"

"No, Tom. Do you remember what happened last time? I know, you can do that chicken and ham pasta bake. With your garlic bread."

"And I assume you will want extra cheese on your bit?"

"Of course."

"You'll get fat, old man," he says, teasing gently, flicking me with the tea towel. I lunge for his ribs, tickling.

"Take it back."

"Alright!" He cries, wriggling away. "I take it back." He gets to a safe distance, and looks me up and down. "Not that old, anyway." I run into the bedroom after him, and he laughs when I'm drawn up short. He's magically managed to remove his uniform shirt. I still have to stop and stare when I see him without an article of clothing. He knows it, of course.

I approach him slowly. He watches me, and then I pounce. I settle between his hips, and he cradles me close. I bite his neck, he gasps and arches. I consider the mark I leave there.

"Mine."

I am his, he is mine. And as I slide home inside him, take him, hold him close, move against him, feel delicious heat surround me, I know that we will have each other for the rest of our lives.


End file.
